


sorry baby x

by princessoftheworlds, wearing_tearing



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Action, Alternate Universe - Killing Eve (TV) Fusion, Assassin Natasha Romanov, Captain America Reverse Big Bang 2019, Cunnilingus, Enemies to Lovers, F/F, Happy Ending, Minor Character Death, Mission Fic, Murder, Natasha Romanov’s Post-Red Room Revenge World Tour, POV Alternating, Pining, Red Room (Marvel), SHIELD Agent Sharon Carter, Slow Build
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-01
Updated: 2019-06-01
Packaged: 2020-03-26 09:52:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 18,614
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19003372
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/princessoftheworlds/pseuds/princessoftheworlds, https://archiveofourown.org/users/wearing_tearing/pseuds/wearing_tearing
Summary: Sharon is mostly definitely not a spy.Natasha is mostly definitely an assassin with a crush.





	sorry baby x

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to our CapRBB 2019 collab! (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧
> 
> For this story, **Killing Eve warnings apply** such as murder, graphic depictions of violence, blood, and gore. Take care of yourself and happy reading!
> 
>  **princessoftheworlds** : Thank you to wearing_tearing for perfectly understanding the ideas I had behind my edit and polishing them into this amazing fic! I've loved working with you as a collab partner! I liked Killing Eve S1 and the dynamic between Villanelle and Eve. I thought comparing Villanelle to Natasha would be an interesting experiment considering their Russian assassin past, and the only one who dynamically fit into Eve's role was Sharon. I'm so glad for this collab because it went along perfectly with the crazy twisted thrill that was S2. 
> 
> **wearing_tearing** : thank you to [princessoftheworlds](https://princess-of-the-worlds.tumblr.com/) for the wonderful art that you can find at the beginning of this fic, the cool prompt, and for being an amazing collab partner! i had so much fun writing this and merging the mcu and killing eve together. and thank you to [belovedmuerto](https://archiveofourown.org/users/belovedmuerto) for the beta reading and being the best of friends. <3

( _art by[princessoftheworlds](https://princess-of-the-worlds.tumblr.com/)_)

 

**

 

Sharon stares at her reflection in the bathroom mirror, white button up wrinkled under her coat, and tries to convince herself this isn’t wrong.

She feels it, deep in her gut, that she’s on the right track, no matter what Sitwell or Fury try to tell her. She knows the witness has more to say than the bumbling mess about a flat-chested assassin that was their interview and she intends to find out what.

Sharon takes a deep breath. “You can do this.”

She knows she can. It might cost her her job at the SHIELD, but only if someone finds out.

The stall to her left unlocks and Sharon straightens, fingers twitching at her sides, but her posture relaxes when she sees it’s only a nurse in inconspicuous blue scrubs. They stand side by side in front of the sink. A few seconds later, the sound of running water echoes through the bathroom as the nurse starts washing her hands.

Sharon rolls her shoulders. She can do this. All she needs to do is step into the recovery room and ask some questions. In and out. And then she’ll have what she needs.

Sharon stares at her reflection again, but this time to let her hair out of the secure bun she wears to keep the strands away from her face. She hooks her fingers under the hair tie and pulls it loose, sighing in relief as her hair comes down to her shoulders and tickles her neck.

She stops.

She turns her head to her right.

The nurse stares at her, bright green eyes entirely focused on the place Sharon’s hair curves against her throat. Her face is pale with a pinkish undertone to it, porcelain soft, a striking contrast against the red of her hair that is pulled up in a high ponytail. Sharon wastes a second to note how beautiful she looks, but when the nurse doesn’t move her gaze away, a flicker of unease runs down Sharon’s spine.

“Are you okay?” Sharon asks with a furrow between her brows.

The nurse blinks and moves her eyes up. She doesn’t say anything, just gives Sharon a small nod of her head, and then turns the water off. Sharon watches her walk away, hands going to her hair so she can tie it up again, and doesn’t miss the way the nurse stops by the entrance door.

“Wear it down,” she says, and turns to glance at Sharon one final time before she leaves and the door snaps close.

Sharon shakes her head at herself.

That was odd, but she has more important things to worry about.

 

**

 

There is blood and bodies everywhere.

The hospital hallway, the hospital floor, the hospital bed where Sharon’s witness lies dying with a cut slashing across her throat.

Sharon’s hands themselves are slicked with blood, thick and still warm, while she tries to hold on to Kasia Molkovska, her life, and whatever clues she keeps.

“Someone call 911!” Sharon yells to the empty room, hoping her voice reaches the next person alive who stumbles into this mess. “You’re going to be okay,” she promises Kasia, even though she knows it isn’t true. She still reaches out to hit the alarm on the wall, heart stuttering in her chest when it starts blaring.

Kasia chokes on her own blood, eyes wide and terrified, but her grip is strong when she wraps her hand around Sharon’s wrist.

“What is it?” Sharon asks, leaning in.

“ _She— she was h-h-here_ ,” Kasia spits out in Polish, spots of blood bursting past her lips to fall on Sharon’s skin.

Sharon sends a thank you to her Aunt Peggy for her insistence that she become proficient in different languages. “ _Who was here?”_ she asks, the words a little stilted on her tongue.

“ _The Wid-widow_ ,” Kasia whispers, face losing color and eyes so round they look like they might pop out of her head. “ _The Widow was here_.”

“ _Who? Who is the widow?_ ” Sharon asks, in vain. Kasia’s blinks once, as if in understanding of what’s to come, and lets out one final breath before her body goes limp in Sharon’s grasp.

Blood stops flowing, and Sharon’s only witness dies.

 

**

 

“You had one job,” Sitwell snaps when he takes his seat on the table across from Sharon in one of SHIELD’s interrogation rooms. “And that was to analyze data, not prance around in the field.”

Sharon curls her hands, still bloody, into fists so as not to reach out and punch him in the face. Fury is a silent presence by her side, his hand on her shoulder, as if to tell her to stay put. Maria Hill, a senior agent who’d just met her this morning, stares at her with an impassive expression from behind Sitwell, hands folded in her lap.

“What do I need to do?” Sharon asks. She’s always been aware of the consequences and, until she was holding on to Kasia as she died, she thought she was ready to face them.

“You’ve conducted an illegal investigation,” Sitwell points a finger at her, “and manipulated a witness. People _died_ , Agent Carter, because you got involved in something that wasn’t your department. There’s nothing you _can_ do.”

Indignation flares bright in Sharon’s gut and she’s punching the table before she can stop herself. “But I was _right_.”

“About what?” Sitwell snorts. “Because from where I’m standing, everything went wrong in this case after you decided to get—”

“Sitwell,” Fury interrupts him, letting his hand fall from Sharon’s shoulder. “I believe that’s enough.”

Sitwell leans back into his seat, arms crossed over his chest, and glares at Fury before turning to Sharon again. “You’re fired.”

“And you can fuck right off to hell, you weasel,” Sharon snaps back at him, so angry and frustrated her hands start to shake again.

Sitwell stands up and opens his mouth, undoubtedly to yell at Sharon some more, but the sound of Agent Hill’s voice stops him in his tracks.

“What were you right about?” Agent Hill asks, head tilted to the side as she considers Sharon.

“I don’t believe there’s anything worth—” Sitwell tries to say.

“And I believe I didn’t ask you,” Agent Hill cuts him off, eyes never leaving Sharon. She dips her chin. “Go ahead.”

Sharon swallows past the lump in her throat. “The assassin is a woman.”

“Not this again,” Sitwell huffs out.

“You may go, Agent Sitwell,” Agent Hill says. “You aren’t needed anymore.”

Sitwell opens and closes his mouth a few times before he lets out a disgruntled sound and leaves, slamming the door behind him.

“Classy,” Fury murmurs under his breath, earning a snort from Sharon.

“Agent Carter,” Agent Hill starts.

“Sharon, please.” Sharon smiles without any humor in it, shrugging her shoulders. “I’m not an Agent anymore.”

“Sharon, what makes you think our assassin is a woman?”

“The way Ka—” Sharon clears her throat when it threatens to close. “The way Kasia described her during our first interview. Short, fair, flat-chested.”

“What interview?” Fury asks with a raised eyebrow. “The one you weren’t supposed to conduct?”

Sharon just shrugs at him. “Yes. And then in the hospital, before… before she died. She also said a widow had been there.”

Fury goes still. “A widow? Or the Widow?”

“Is there a difference?” Sharon tenses in response, mind going back to her last conversation with Kasia.

“Yes,” Agent Hill is the one who replies. “There is.”

“I guess... _the_ Widow.”

Agent Hill nods. “Thank you for your time, Sharon. I hope you find success in the next chapter of your life.”

“Wait—” Sharon gets up from her seat, but Agent Hill doesn’t heed her call as she leaves. Sharon turns to Fury. “What the fuck?”

“I told you not to get involved,” Fury sighs, like the entire world rests on his shoulders, and scrubs a hand across his face. “You should’ve listened to me.”

“I’ve never been good at listening to you,” Sharon answers and lets out a sigh herself. “Am I really fired?”

Fury glances up at her with a sad smile. “I’d keep you on if it were up to me. You’re one hell of an investigator if this is what you can find out when you’re not even supposed to be on the job.”

Sharon tries to swallow past the bitterness rising up in her throat. “I knew I was right.”

Fury stands and claps her on the shoulder. “I knew it too. But I’m sorry, Sharon.”

“Yeah, well,” Sharon breathes out while she stares at Fury’s retreating back, “fuck that.”

 

**

 

“Sharon.”

Sharon blinks at the figure of Agent Hill standing in front of her house, dressed in sharp slacks and a raincoat to Sharon’s sweatpants and old hoodie. “Uh, hi?”

It’s been a rough day. Sharon’s knuckles still hurt from going at a punching bag for the past two hours. The last thing she’d expect after being fired from her job is to have Agent Hill ring her doorbell only a few hours later.

Sharon is not about to be arrested, is she?

“Is there anything you need from the grocery store?” Agent Hill asks with a small smile.

“Uh.” Sharon sweeps her eyes around the street, looking for any hidden cameras that mean she’s getting pranked. Agent Hill patiently waits for her, hands in her pockets, smile still in place. “Okay,” Sharon drawls. “Just let me put on some shoes.”

The walk to the shop is silent, much to Sharon’s own discomfort, but she’s successful at keeping all the hundred different questions she has from bursting out. It isn’t until they’re standing between rows of chips that Agent Hill starts speaking.

“We believe she’s been operating for the past 5 years in 10 different countries. She's highly skilled, as yet untraceable, and, frankly, she's starting to show off.”

“I knew it,” Sharon blurts out before she can stop herself, and then snaps her mouth shut again.

“You did.” Agent Hill gives her another smile. “I know this has been a rough day for you. When you’re feeling better, i’d like to buy you breakfast at Josie’s. On Thursday, 8AM?”

“Thursday sounds good.”

“I’ll see you then.” Agent Hill points at a bag of Doritos over to Sharon’s right shoulder. “You should buy some.”

“I prefer Lays,” Sharon says, “but I will, thank you.”

Agent Hill nods at her once, grabs herself a can of Pringles, and leaves without another word.

Sharon stands in the aisle for a few minutes, wondering when her life got so weird.

 

**

 

“Of course you’re here,” Sharon says when folds herself into one of the back booths at Josie’s the following Thursday morning.

Fury smiles at her, one eye crinkling at the corner, and sets one of the mugs filled with coffee in front of her. “I couldn’t keep you at the old office,” he says, “but I could give you a new one.”

“If anyone is giving her anything,” Agent Hill pipes up as she plops down on the chair in front of Sharon, “it’s me. You don’t get credit for my hard work.”

Fury raises his own mug at her and takes a sip. “Touché.”

“What’s going on?” Sharon interrupts their bickering. She trusts Fury with her life, but she never likes when he tries to keep her in the dark.

“You’ve impressed some people,” Fury tells her, “with what you did with the case.”

“The one that got people killed?” Sharon asks with a bitter twist to her tone.

“An unfortunate accident,” Agent Hill replies. “You’ve shown great skill. You were able to discover something our other agents weren’t even capable of seeing.”

Sharon frowns, but accepts the compliment.

“We also swept your hard drive,” Fury says, and at the dawning look of understanding on Sharon’s face, he adds, “You’ve done a lot of work keeping tabs on other people’s murders.”

Sharron squares her shoulders. She’s not ashamed of her work. The files on her computer show a distinct pattern of death that reaches across different continents. All influential people. All done by what Sharon thinks is the same person.

“Agent Hill would like to show you something,” Fury says when Sharon doesn’t offer an explanation. “And I would like you to keep an open mind.”

Sharon presses the palms of her hands flat to the table surface. “My mind is wide open.”

Agent Hill grins. “Then come with us.”

 

**

 

The building looks like every single block of concrete in the city. Uninteresting and unassuming, with a flow of people coming in and out of its doors through every hour of the morning. Sharon follows Agent Hill and Fury down a series of hallways and up several flights of stairs, trying to contain the excitement and curiosity that sparks in her gut.

The room Agent Hill leads them to is small and not at all cozy, with an pervasive smell of dust and old files permeating the air. Sharon’s eyes catch on the boards balanced against one of the walls, her lips slowly curling up into a smile that is all smug satisfaction and appreciation.

“You did this,” she says as she gets closer to the board. She recognizes her files, deconstructed and put back together anew. It’s a clear visualization of what Sharon’s been thinking of for the past years: one assassin, responsible for the deaths of influential people all over the world, all done with the same style.

“You started it,” Agent Hill says, “we just ran with it.”

“Whoever this is, they aren’t slowing down.”

“No,” Agent Hill agrees. “There’s no pattern, no traces, no one owning up to any of the murders. But there’s something about each of them…”

“I know,” Sharon murmurs, eyes glued to the red string that ties it all together. “I know. Isn’t this something you should be looking into officially?”

“We tried,” Fury answers, giving Sharon a pointed look. “There was very little interest.”

Sharon stomach churns. Fury is suspicious of anything and anyone by nature. What scares Sharon is that he’s often never wrong.

“We have the resources to look into this unofficially,” Agent Hill informs her. “Or rather, for _you_ to look into this unofficially.”

“Are you sure?” Sharon asks, trying to push down the hope that sends her heart beating faster.

“As Fury said, you’ve impressed someone.” Agent Hill smiles a little and then shrugs one shoulder. “And you’re unemployed.”

Sharon lets out a surprised laugh. “The perfect candidate.”

“Your research speaks for itself.” Agent Hill glances at the board. “You’d be paid for your work, but off the books.”

Sharon nods and lets her gaze fall on the board again. This is a chance. A small one, but a chance for her to do what she’s been wanting to the past few years. An actual chance to be involved in an investigation aside from crunching data.

“You want me to find her,” Sharon clarifies.

“We do,” Fury confirms. “We know there’s a pattern, that she’s on someone’s payroll. We just gotta find out who.”

“Are you in?” Agent Hill asks, giving Sharon one last chance to back out.

Sharon grins. “I’m in.”

Agent Hill smiles back, just as wide, and reaches out a hand. “You may call me Maria.”

“Maria.” Sharon shakes her hand. “Thank you.”

Fury claps his hands together. “Welcome to the team.”

 

**

 

Sharon dives head first into her work.

There’s a familiarity to it from years of compiling these files, but now she finally has a chance of following on her hunches and get more concrete results. She goes through each murder again: the first one, of Susa Maron, found hanging in a ladies' toilet, in Japan. The dozens in between, of Boris Ivanovich, Mark Vazquez, Camille Bourdon, and many others. And finally to the last, Cesare Greco, Mafia boss, who had recently and violently taken over a drug cartel in Sicily, killed at his anniversary party in Tuscany.

This last one, the Greco murder, had witnesses. They could place a red haired woman at the party, but not at the scene of the murder.

Unlike Kasia. But Sharon won’t be able to get anything else from her ever again. Only that name: the Widow.

Sharon reads over the statements from the Greco witnesses again, carefully making notes on a yellow pad. She stops when her phone alarm beeps, letting her know she should stop for lunch. She stretches and lets out a groan when her back pops and then slowly makes her way to the bathroom to wash her hands.

“You look like shit,” Sharon tells her mirror reflection. Dark circles under her brown eyes, blond hair falling from a loose ponytail, pink lips chapped. Well, nothing she can fix now.

Sharon pulls at her hair tie so she can at least redo her ponytail, hands combing through the strands as she gathers her hair up again at the back of her head. It’s when she catches sight of herself in the mirror for a quick second that she stops, a sharp stab of understanding hitting her deep in her gut.

“Holy shit,” Sharon gasps and runs back to her room, pulling up the hospital shift records so she can get the names and IDs of each nurse working the night Kasia died.

A knock sounds at the door, followed by the turn of a key and Fury’s voice echoing through the room. “It’s lunch time, Carter. I better not find you asleep on top of your case files.”

“I think I met her,” Sharon says in a rush as soon as Fury closes the door. “The Widow.”

“When?” Fury asks, already grabbing a flip phone from his jacket pocket and hitting some buttons.

“At the hospital, when I was visiting Kasia. There was a nurse in the bathroom with me. Short, fair, with red hair. I didn’t pay attention to her,” Sharon wrinkles her nose and gestures at her own chest, “but she fits the description.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.” Sharon nods. She shouldn’t be, but every fiber of her being is screaming that the nurse is their killer.

“I’ll get you to a sketch artist,” Fury promises, phone to his ear. “We’ll get some lunch on the way.”

Sharon breathes out slowly and places a hand over her fast-beating heart.

The nurse. The Widow.

“Oh, _fuck_ ,” Sharon groans and hides her face behind her hands.

The nurse? The Widow? Is the beautiful woman who couldn’t take her eyes off Sharon.

 

**

 

Natasha carefully slides a knife through a red velvet cake, licking the blade clean of frosting after she places a hearty slice on a porcelain plate.

She deserves this reward.

Two successful killings and no arrests mean she’s doing her job as she’s supposed to, even though she lets herself have fun with her victims. The dress she stole from Greco’s wife sits in her closet, blue and pretty and too big for her.

The cake is sweet and filling, just as she likes it, and to be savored. Each bite is followed by a hum of appreciation. A pat on the back for a job well done. So Natasha isn’t pleased when there’s a knock on her door.

Even less so when she opens it to see Ivan and his unamused eyes.

“Are you going to invite me in?” Ivan asks.

“You interrupted me,” Natasha complains, but lets him inside anyway.

It’s in her best interests to pretend he still has control over her.

“I bring news,” Ivan tells her, and doesn’t ask permission before he slides his finger through the layer of cake frosting and sticks it in his mouth.

Natasha wonders how much trouble she’d get in if she murdered him right then and there. She has a fork, a porcelain plate, her own bare hands. It wouldn’t be difficult.

“Oh?” Natasha prompts. “Someone else for me to kill?”

“No.” Ivan sits down on her couch. “You’re being investigated.”

“Oh?” Natasha says again, this time considerably more interested.

“A woman is leading a department just to find you.”

Natasha lets herself be flattered for a second. She likes when someone appreciates her hard work. “Do we know what they know?”

“No, but we need to careful.” Ivan side-eyes her. “Subtle.”

“I can do subtle,” Natasha says. She can do subtle better than any of them, but these past few years have left her bored. “What is her name? The woman?”

“Her name’s Sharon Carter.”

“Sharon,” Natasha test the word on her tongue.

 _Sharon_.

Natasha can’t wait to meet her.

 

**

 

“Her hair was red,” Sharon tells the sketch artist. “Deep red, ending a little over her shoulders. She was short, maybe around 5’3’’ or so, with what seemed to be a lean build. Her skin was fair, pale with pink undertones, and she had green eyes. Almond-shaped. Wide, but also alert. Her features were delicate, with full pink lips and high cheekbones. She had a lost look in her eye that was both direct and chilling. As if she’s totally focused and yet almost entirely inaccessible.”

The sketch artist blinks back at her. “Uh. Did she have a square face or an oval face?”

Sharon fights the urge to roll her eyes at him and settles instead for a flat gaze. “Oval. Definitely oval.”

“Thank you for that detailed description,” Fury says with an even tone, like Sharon can’t see the way his lips are twitching.

Sharon narrows her eyes at him. “You’re very welcome.”

The sketch artist’s final product only half looks like the woman Sharon met at the bathroom, but it’s more than what they had before. It also helps to have something to compare it to while they go through the nurse ID pictures from hospital records.

It takes them about twenty minutes to find what they’re looking for. Sharon almost jumps from her chair when Fury calls her name and she sees the face staring back at her through the screen: beautiful and soft and, as she now knows, deadly.

“That’s her,” Sharon points at the Widow’s face, trying to ignore the way her heartbeat speeds up.

Fury stares at the screen for a few seconds before nodding and hitting the printing button. “You’re right.” He glances at Sharon from the corner of his eye. “She does have an oval face.”

Sharon presses her lips together and gently punches Fury in the shoulder. He snickers at her, but his expression settles into something more serious after the picture’s finished printing.

“Okay?” Sharon asks him.

“Yup.” Fury nods. “Good work.”

Sharon smiles slightly, but doesn’t feel any sense of relief. She knows this is just the beginning. Putting a face to the killing is a big step. Now they need to find her.

Sharon is startled out of her thoughts by Maria coming in, and then immediately goes into high alert at the look on Maria’s face. “What happened?”

“Another killing,” Maria says, the lines around her mouth deep with displeasure. “Zhang Wu. A hacker for the Chinese military.”

“Okay.” Sharon sighs and tucks a loose hair strand behind her ear. “We can add his case to the pile.”

Maria shakes her head. “This one is more complicated.”

Sharron frowns and exchanges a glance with Fury. “How so?”

“He was murdered during a very specific fetish scene at a… clinic, I guess you could say.”

“Any witnesses?” Sharon asks, grabbing her yellow pad and jotting down notes.

“One. The receptionist says she signed on a red haired woman as a temp that morning.”

“Got it.” Sharon gestures to the records picture still in Fury’s hand. “We should get that to her and see if she can identify—”

“There’s more,” Maria interrupts her.

Sharon slowly lowers her pen and stares up at Maria, a cold feeling slithering up her spine. “What is it?”

“She gave a name at the desk,” Maria says, lips turning down even more.

Sharon clenches her jaw. “What name?”

There’s no humor in Maria’s face when she replies, “Sharon Carter.”

“Fuck,” Fury curses next to her, bunching up the picture in his hand.

“She knows,” Sharon whispers, the cold wrapping itself around her heart.

“It appears so.”

No one was supposed to know. Which means there’s something more than meets the eye in this situation.

“Where did the murder take place?” Sharon asks.

“Berlin.” Maria’s face softens an inch. “You want to go there.”

“I want to find her.”

Maria sighs. “I’m not going to convince you otherwise, am I? Despite the danger you’re facing.”

Sharon tilts her chin up with all the defiance she can muster, which is a lot. “I’ll find her.”

Maria shakes her head, a ghost of a smile playing at her lips. “Okay.”

“If you’re going, I’m going,” Fury warns her, daring Sharon to argue.

Sharon doesn’t. He’s one of the best, and Sharon knows she’s going to need all the help she can get.

 

**

 

Berlin is filled with dead ends.

Whoever the Widow is, she’s good at disappearing without leaving a trace. And whoever she works for? They’re good at covering their tracks.

Sharon is frustrated, angry, and tired. Fury’s contacts have only been good to tell them to leave things alone, which speaks to how high and how far this operation goes.

Sharon opens her mouth to tell Fury so when they leave the little coffee shop where they met the last person on Fury’s list, but he lifts up a hand to stop her.

“I know,” he says, voice gruff. “I don’t like it either.”

“Are we going to do something about it?”

Fury snorts. “You bet your ass.”

Sharon smiles to herself and bumps their elbows together. “Want to grab some food first?”

Fury shakes his head. “There are some other people I want to get in touch with, but they’ll only speak to me if I’m alone. We can meet back at the hotel.”

Sharon doesn’t like it, but they part ways. Fury knows people from all walks of life and she’s not about to jeopardize the investigation because she doesn’t like to be left behind.

Sharon listens to her stomach instead, stopping at a place to buy herself some currywurst with fries. She eats while she walks, mind reeling with everything they haven’t learned in Berlin. The crime scene didn’t give them anything new, and everyone’s reluctance or inability to talk more about it means Sharon finds herself stuck.

There are no clues to follow.

The subway platform is almost empty when she makes her way down the stairs, thoughts still preoccupied with the day’s frustration. She hopes Fury will have something new for them when he comes back to the hotel.

Her train is a few minutes away, so Sharon contends herself with putting on her headphones and queueing up the audio for one of the witness interviews. She’s heard them enough times she knows almost every little detail by heart, but one never knows when something new might jump out at them.

With the teary sound of Mrs. Greco’s voice in her ear, the back of Sharon’s neck prickles.

Sharon’s shoulders tense, but she doesn’t take her eyes off the dirty platform tracks. Someone’s watching her, she’s sure, but best to pretend she doesn’t know.

She counts to ten in her head, and then fakes her phone vibrating in her pocket. She pulls off her headphones and sticks her hand in one of her jacket pockets, picking up her phone and putting it to her ear. This gives her an excuse to let her eyes wander across her side of the platform, taking in the couple to her left, the family of four standing a few ways away, the old man sitting on one of the benches. None of them pay any attention to her, so Sharon directs her gaze to the other side of the platform.

And there, standing right across from here, with the tracks separating them from each other, is a face Sharon knows she’ll never forget.

The Widow smiles up at her, a tiny quirk of her lips, and lifts up a hand in a wave.

Before Sharon can move, before she can scream or run or jump over the tracks and catch the person that’s been haunting her every waking hour, a train rushes through the tracks and hides the Widow from view.

And when it’s gone, the Widow has disappeared along with it.

 

**

 

“There’s not a trace of her,” Fury tells her for the tenth time while Sharon paces around the common area of their shared hotel room. “Nothing. If she’s still in Berlin, no one can find her.”

Sharon growls in frustration, a harsh sound in the back of her throat, and presses the palms of her hands to her eyes. “She was right _there_.”

In black leather pants and a pretty red coat, with her red hair up in a bun, and heeled boots covering her feet. Only a few feet away from Sharon.

And now gone.

“We need to go back,” Fury says in a soft tone, sympathy softening his expression when Sharon sits down on the couch next to him. “I know this is hard, but we can do more from there. We’ve already stayed here for too long.”

 _It’s only been an extra four days_ , Sharon wants to argue, but she knows better than to waste her breath with this. Fury is right. And, if they’ve learned anything about the Widow so far, is that she’ll attack again soon.

“Okay.” Sharon’s shoulder slump in defeat. “I hate this.”

“We both hate this,” Fury corrects her, and when Sharon glares at him, he pokes her in the shoulder with the pen he’s holding. “But if anyone’s going to catch her, it’s us.”

 _It’s me_ , Sharon wants to correct him.

 _If anyone is going to catch the Widow, it’s me_.

 

**

 

Sharon Carter’s house looks exactly like Natasha thought it would: cozy, messy, and filled with things for her to discover.

Natasha gently traces her gloved fingers over the edge of a picture frame that shows Sharon in a cap and gown, smiling wide for the camera, with her diploma held in her hand. Her blond hair is loose and shiny, straightened so it falls past her shoulders, and Natasha would like nothing more than to run her fingers through it.

Too bad Sharon is still in Berlin.

Natasha continues her journey through each room of the house, making note of the packed bookshelves and trinkets that adorn them. She goes through Sharon’s closet, picking up an old discarded hoodie that lays on the floor and bringing it to her nose. Natasha breathes in deep, the flowery smell of perfume filling her senses.

“Good taste,” Natasha murmurs to herself. She wraps the hoodie around her waist. That item is coming home with her.

That is not the only thing Natasha takes from Sharon’s house. The pack of Oreos hiding behind a cereal box makes its way into Natasha’s hands. She smiles when she pops a cookie into her mouth, amused that Sharon would try to keep such treats from her own self.

Natasha is not a bad guest, though.

On Sharon’s living room coffee table, she leaves a gift.

 

**

 

Sharon knows someone’s been to her house as soon as she steps inside it. Nothing looks disturbed from where she’s standing, but every single bone in her body tells her someone’s been through her things.

With her phone in hand, ready to dial Maria, Sharon leaves her bags by the door and walks further into the house. She stops short when she reaches her living room, heart in her throat, mind going a mile a minute.

The box isn’t much. It’s about the size of a plate, black and sturdy, with a red ribbon tying it closed. It rests on the middle of her coffee table, just waiting for her to take another step and discover its contents. There’s a note resting against one of its sides, a sharp white square, with its words hidden behind one of the ribbon ends.

Sharon takes in a steadying breath.

She picks up one of her discarded highlighters from the coffee table and uses it to nudge the card away from the ribbon. Her next breath catches in her throat as her eyes read the words scribbled across it in black pen.

 _Sorry_  
Baby  
_x_

Dropping the pen and taking a step back, Sharon dials Maria.

 

**

 

“She knows where I live,” Sharon says, arms crossed over her chest, nails digging into her palms. Sweat makes her undershirt stick to her back and she’s sure she’ll pace a hole through the floor before the end of the day.

They’re in the office now, at Maria’s request, with the box resting on top of Sharon’s work desk after Fury’s checked it for explosives (none could be found) and prints (all over the place). All that’s left now is to open it and see what gifts await them inside.

“She seems to know a lot of things she shouldn’t,” Fury says under his breath, his one eye narrowed and fixed on the box.

“It’s been noted,” Maria assures them, and then points at the box. “Who wants to do the honors?”

Sharon is already moving before Maria can finish the question. She grabs a new pair of latex gloves from her desk drawer and slips them on, but has to take a steadying breath before she lets herself unwrap whatever it is the Widow left her.

Sharon frowns when she sees the glint of a perfume bottle appear, lying cozy in between layers of red paper. It has a label, the words written in a fancy curving script: _Widow_.

“That isn’t ominus at all,” Sharon murmurs.

“I’ll send that to analysis,” Fury says, carefully packing the bottle up in a safe bag and setting it aside.

“There’s more.” Sharon slowly pulls the sheets of paper out of the box, revealing a small silver flash drive taped to the bottom. She pries the tape apart with gentle fingers and holds the flash drive on the palm of her hand. “Why would she send us this?”

“She wants us to know something,” Maria pipes up. “Was anything else missing from your house?”

“A pack of Oreos,” Sharon grumbles. “And an old hoodie.”

Maria hums, like that explains anything, and grabs her phone. “There’s someone I want to call in for this. They’ve worked with me before. We shouldn’t take any chances with the information stored in the drive.”

Sharon nods, setting the drive down on the table and snapping off her gloves. “I don’t like this.”

“No one likes this,” Fury chimes in. “We should consider getting you to a safehouse.”

“You try that and I’ll take care of your other eye,” Sharon threatens. She’s not about to leave her own home just because some gorgeous assassin stole her cookies. “I’m staying.”

Fury levels her with a glare that would kill anyone else on the spot. “Do you still have your gun?”

“Yes,” Sharon replies. “And ammo too. Aunt Peggy would never forgive me if I didn’t.”

Fury nods once, satisfied. “I’ll get going with this, then,” he says and grabs the perfume bottle. “Be back in jiff.”

Sharon blows a harsh breath through her nose and flops down on her computer chair. “You know what this means, right?” she glances up at Maria.

Maria’s expressions shutters for one brief second before it twists into a scowl. “The possibility of SHIELD having a mole has been considered.”

“And?”

“And we haven’t been able to find them yet,” Maria admits with a little reluctance. “This is an unofficial department, an off the books investigation.”

“So for someone to know…”

“They’d need to be connected to the three of us,” Maria finishes, and a heavy silence falls between them. That’s broken a second later by Maria’s phone pinging. “I’ll be right back,” Maria lets her know.

Sharon leans back into her chair and stares at the ceiling, shivering when her mind goes to the fact that the Widow’s been at her house. Her stomach churns unpleasantly at the thought of someone going through her things, violating her safe space, but she also can’t help but be intrigued at what must motivate the Widow to do all of this.

What’s so interesting about Sharon that would be deserving of this kind of attention?

“Maybe she just wants to play with me before she murders me,” Sharon says to no one.

Like a spider with her prey.

And with each passing day, Sharon can feel herself become more tangled with whatever web the Widow is weaving.

“Agent Carter, I’d like to introduce you to someone,” Maria says as she and a young woman with dark hair walk into the room. “This is Daisy Johnson. She’s worked with me on cases similar to this one before.”

“Those cases didn’t have a murder board.” Daisy points at the wall with a shocked smile, and then turns to Maria with a suspicious look on her face. “You told me I’d be doing super secret computer stuff.”

“They’re not mutually exclusive,” Sharon pipes up, unable to keep herself from smiling. “I’m Sharon.”

“Daisy.” Daisy waves a hand at her, and then her eyes catch on the flash drive on the table. “This is what you need me for?” she asks, and at Maria’s nod, she swipes the drive off the table and then settles down at Fury’s work desk.

Sharon grins to herself. Fury won’t be pleased.

“Do we know what I’m looking for?” Daisy asks, eyes already flickering over the screen and fingers fast at typing.

“We don’t know what’s in there,” Sharon answers. “Anything you can tell us?”

Daisy chews on her bottom lip as she goes through the files. “This isn’t even encrypted. You could’ve just plugged it in and be done.”

Sharon doesn’t bother hiding her surprise. “Are you serious?”

Daisy turns her head to Maria. “Is this a prank?”

“It’s not a prank,” Maria assures her.

“It’s not.” Sharon pinches the bridge of her nose. “It’s a gift.”

Daisy looks from Maria to Sharon and back again before she focuses on the computer screen. “Okay, well. Whatever this is, there's… a lot. I’m only seeing bank statements in the first folder, but there are about 20 different ones to get through so. What do you want me to focus on first?”

“The money,” Maria says without hesitation. “Money always talks.”

“Are they all transfers?” Sharon asks, rolling her chair closer to Daisy’s once Daisy starts working her magic.

“Yup. If you give me an hour and plenty of snacks, I can find out what’s going where.”

“And to whom?”

Daisy grins at Sharon. “Reese’s peanut butter cups are my favorites.”

“We’ll get you your food,” Maria promises with a smile.

“Thank you for doing this,” Sharon tells Daisy as she gets up. She might as well get herself more Oreos now that… now that the ones she had are in the hands of an assassin that might or might not want to kill her.

Daisy waves a dismissive hand at her. “My pleasure. Really. I love when Maria calls me in to do things like this. It’s like I’m in a conspiracy movie only we get to catch real bad guys.”

Sharon shakes her head. “Do you have any drink requests?”

“Something with caffeine in it!” Daisy yells after her, not bothering to turn around and face Sharon.

Once outside, Sharon leans in close to Maria, “The thing you haven’t been able to find? How much do you wanna bet it’s in those files?”

“I don’t take losing bets,” Maria replies. “But I would like to know why the Widow is helping us with this.”

 _Yes_ , Sharon thinks, so would she.

 

**

 

Daisy keeps good on her promise. About an hour and a half later she stuffs the last peanut butter cup into her mouth and proudly proclaims, “I have an account number for you. American. With some _pretty_ suspicious transactions for the past few years.”

“Who?” Fury asks.

“I don’t think you’ll like to know,” Daisy tells them with a grimace.

“Daisy,” Maria prompts.

“Okay so, they receive three payments a year for the exact same amount and they all happen to land on a shell company by the name of Item 47.” Daisy hits a few keys and brings up the files, all detailing the account number and a sum for twenty thousand dollars transferred every four months. “I did some digging and found out the company is registered under someone named Patsy Sitwell.”

Sharon holds on to the arms of her chair so as not to hit anything, anger burning so hot and bright in her stomach she wants to hunt Sitwell down and strangle him with her bare hands.

“Are you _fucking kidding me_?” Fury asks, voice so low it makes the hairs on the back of Sharon’s neck stand up.

“I wish, with the way you’re looking at me,” Daisy tries to joke. “I checked into Patsy, and that’s when things got a little weird.”

“She doesn’t exist,” Sharon supplies, already wishing she hadn’t fought the urge to punch Sitwell when he fired her.

“Nope,” Daisy confirms. “She’s a ghost. But what's interesting is that her information is cross-referenced in one of the other files in the flash drive, which gives me another angle to check for things. But the money transferred into her account? Gets deposited, little by little, into another account under—”

“Let me guess,” Maria says, tone surprisingly even for someone who looks like they’re about to commit murder. “Jasper Sitwell.”

Daisy looks apologetic when she says, “Yup.”

“That spineless piece of shit,” Maria snarls, calm expression now totally gone. “Where is he now?”

“I don’t know.” Daisy shrugs, and at Maria’s murderous expression she adds, “But I can find out.”

Sharon clenches her jaw and tries to push down the anger that threatens to choke her. Her eyes catch on the Widow’s box, the red ribbons and paper, the little white note that was waiting for her when she got home.

“She’s going after him,” Sharon says, as loud as a whisper.

Fury hears her, anyway. “What?”

Sharon swallows past the lump forming in her throat. “She’s going after him. That’s why she sent me the gift. She plans to kill him and she wants us to know _why_.”

 

**

 

Finding Sitwell isn’t as difficult as they thought it would be. First because Daisy tracks him via his phone, which puts him a thirty minute drive away from the city, and second because Sitwell himself calls them when they’re five minutes away.

“She’s trying to kill me!” he screams through the phone through panting breaths and what sound like tears. “She’s— she’s going to— I didn’t mean, I swear, I—”

“Where the fuck are you?” Fury asks, interrupting Sitwell’s blubbering.

It takes Sitwell a few seconds of sputtering to spit out an answer, and Maria quickly changes course to get to him as soon as possible. Sharon’s heart sits in her throat, expectation making her palms sweat, and she hopes with all her soul they get to Sitwell in time. Even though he doesn’t deserve it.

They hear the shots when they get close to the house Sitwell said he was hiding in. Sharon drops low on the backseat of the car, grabbing the gun Maria gave her before they left, while Fury yells at Sitwell on the phone and Maria drives the car through someone’s lawn to one of the back roads.

They see Sitwell as soon as Maria turns left on the street, running in zigzag as fast as he can, phone still glued to his ear. Sharon scrambles to get the car door open and aims her gun at the small figure in a dark green jumpsuit calmly walking a few feet behind Sitwell.

“Run faster, you motherfucker!” Fury screams at him, the sound drawn out by another shot that hits inches away from Sitwell’s running feet.

“She’s playing with him!” Sharon yells to them, keeping the door open with her foot while Maria continues to drive in Sitwell’s direction. “She’s playing with _us_.”

“Only if we let her,” Maria answers, and chooses that moment to take a sharp turn with her car so she can aim her gun through the driver’s open window and take a shot at the Widow.

Sharon winces at the loud bang that reverberates through the car. Sitwell keeps screaming, telling them to stop shooting him, but it’s the Widow that gets Sharon’s attention. She stops, for only a few seconds, her hair flowing in the wind.

And then she starts running.

“Shit, shit, shit,” Sharon curses as she aims her own gun, finger on the trigger. She’s a good shot, but not as good as Maria, and there’s no way she’ll be able to hit a moving target at this distance, especially with Sitwell running all over the place. She can still shoot wide, just to scare, although she doubts that’ll stop the Widow.

Sharon shoots after Maria rights the car again so the open door is facing Sitwell, bullet embedding on the ground a few feet away from the path the Widow runs through. Sitwell ducks and throws his phone at them, which hits the passenger side window and falls to the ground.

“Get in!” Sharon yells at him, and takes her foot off the door long enough so Sitwell can throw himself inside.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, _fuck_!” Sitwell screams as he slides down and presses himself between the seats, away from the windows, his hands shaking and body covered in sweat. “What are you waiting for? _Drive!_ ”

Maria lets out a handful of curses and hits the accelerator, turning the car around so the door closes by itself and everyone is safely inside the car. The Widow keeps running after them, gun in hand, but every shot she takes doesn’t break through Maria’s bulletproof car.

The Widow must realize it, because she stops wasting bullets after the third shot. She just stands on the road, blank expression staring after them as they drive away, her chest rising and falling with each breath.

Sharon watches her through the rear windshield. And, for reason Sharon doesn’t want to examine, lifts a hand up in a wave.

The Widow stills and, right before the car takes a right and disappears from sight, she waves back.

 

**

 

“Start talking,” Maria demands as soon as Sitwell’s stops crying on the floor of her car.

They’re still driving, to one of Fury’s safehouses now, but Sitwell refuses to be in sight of any windows.

“Can’t we stop for food first?” Sitwell sniffles. “My blood sugar’s low.”

Neither of them say anything. Maria just opens her glovebox and throws a cereal bar at Sitwell’s head. “The next thing to hit you will be me,” she threatens.

Sitwell gulps. “Can you not give me a hard time? I’ve been through a lot.”

“Through your own fault,” Sharon throws back, and even kicks him lightly on the thigh for good measure.

“Romanov,” Sitwell says after a few seconds of silence. “That’s what she introduced herself as.”

“Probably a fake name,” Fury answers, but Sharon sees him grab his flip phone and hit a few buttons.

“I wouldn’t know,” Sitwell sniffs.

“What else?” Maria asks.

Sitwell hesitates to answer, but with another light kick from Sharon he blurts out, “They call themselves the Red Room. They know everything about me.”

“Were they blackmailing you?” Sharon asks.

There’s nothing from Sitwell again, just a long stretch of silence that’s uncomfortable and telling.

“They weren’t, were they?” Fury pipes up. “You just saw a chance to win some easy money and started singing.”

“You would have too with the amount of money they offered me!” Sitwell snaps.

Sharon snorts in disgust. “You’re the only rat here, Sitwell. What information did they want?”

“If you were still investigating the Greco murder and all the others,” Sitwell answers, taking off his glasses and scrubbing a hand over his sweaty face. “I knew you, Maria, were interested in Sharon, even after I fired her, and when you came for the contents of her hard drive, well… it wasn’t hard to put two and two together. I thought you’d continue to follow the threads, and I see that I was right.”

Sharon’s sets her jaw and sees Maria do the same. “What else?”

“I couldn’t find out what exactly what you’d been doing,” Sitwell says, lips turned down in disappointment. He chances a glance at Fury. “You’re good at moving in the shadows.”

Fury’s eye flashes with smugness for a quick second before he’s back to looking angry. “And?”

“They weren’t too worried about it,” Sitwell tells them. “They’re more interested in the big picture than just an investigation into one of their assassins. That’s the impression I got from their agent.”

“Who was he?” Maria asks.

“Some guy with a Russian accent.” Sitwell shrugs. “He didn’t introduce himself further and I didn’t ask.”

Sharon breathes out slowly, slotting the pieces of the puzzle together. “Why didn't you come to us?”

Sitwell snorts. “Why would I?”

“What about the girl?” Fury asks. “What are they using her for?”

“What do you think?” Sitwell rolls his eyes. “To get people out of their way.”

Sharon presses her lips together in a tight line. “Anything else?”

“Yeah,” Sitwell starts, “do you think I could get a safehouse with a pool?”

 

**

 

“I think I found her,” Daisy says through a mouthful of jellybeans, her lips stained purple.

Sharon drops the case file she’d been holding and comes to stand behind Daisy’s chair. She’s occupied Fury’s desk and made it her own, much to Sharon and Maria’s amusement. There are energy drink cans and empty chips bangs and post-its notes everywhere.

“Yeah, that’s her alright,” Sharon murmurs, staring at the Widow’s bruised face on the screen. “Natasha Romanov,” she murmurs. A name to the face. “What’s this from?”

“Russian prison,” Daisy answers after she swallows her candy. “Apparently she thigh-choked a guy until he suffocated and died.”

Sharon sucks in a surprised breath, although she knows she shouldn’t be shocked. She’s poured over crime scene photos for hours and hours these past few weeks, and the perfume Fury sent to analysis came back confirming the DNA in the bottle was the same as the one in every single crime scene Sharon’s been investigating. Sharon knows what the Widow is capable of.

“Can you print that? And send a copy to Fury and Maria.”

Sharon walks home with Natasha’s face running through her mind. It’s weird to finally have a name for the person that has been haunting her for so long, but Sharon can’t deny it sends a thrill of excitement through her. It’s another step closer to catching her before she kills anyone else.

That’s what occupies Sharon’s mind when she gets home, thoughts buzzing in her head as she grabs herself a beer and goes to change into comfortable flannel pj pants and one of her old grey knit sweaters. She holds on to the printed copy of Natasha’s prison records while she goes to the kitchen in search for dinner. Natasha’s face is known to her by now: the curve of her lips, the shape of her nose, the glint in her eyes.

Sharon hangs the mugshot of Natasha’s face on her fridge, held in place by a cat magnet, and then stops in her tracks when she hears a loud thud coming from her living room. She silently curses herself for leaving her gun on her nightstand, but grabs one of her kitchen knives before she goes to investigate.

The living room is empty, yet every instinct Sharon has tells her someone’s in her house. And when she turns to make her way up the stairs, she finds out she’s right.

Natasha freezes in place, eyes wide like she was caught doing something she shouldn’t, and time slows down. She’s wearing a pastel pink fur coat and black stockings, which lead the way down to black leather ankle boots. She looks beautiful and Sharon wonders if she might be having a stroke. They stare at each other for what could be seconds or hours, until Sharon comes unstuck and brandishes her knife.

“Don’t move,” Sharon says, blood rushing to her ears. Beautiful or not, Natasha is an assassin, and Sharon is not about to let her get away.

Natasha tilts her head to the side. And then she runs.

Sharon curses under her breath and follows Natasha up the flight of stairs, hoping Natasha won’t grab her gun and shoot Sharon with it. Sharon skids on socked feet when she gets to the hallway, eyes scanning the second floor, and runs again when she sees a flicker of red hair dashing to her office.

Sharon has the knife in hand when she bursts through the door, but gets caught off guard when a weight crashes into her from her left. She grunts and falls to the floor, knife slipping from her hand, with Natasha clinging to her back. They roll around on the floor in a tangle of limbs and sharp nails, and Sharon manages to get a few punches and one hair pulling in before she realizes Natasha is trying to talk to her.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” Natasha hisses through gritted teeth. “Now let go of my hair.”

Sharon stills, her sudden stop leaving her on her back on the floor, with Natasha on top of her and straddling her thighs. That’s the _Widow_. And she’s _speaking_ to Sharon, in her low raspy voice that absolutely does not send shivers down Sharon’s spine.

“You broke into my house,” Sharon says through her shock, fingers still gripping Natasha’s hair. It’s as soft as Sharon thought it would be, which is really not a thought she should be having right now.

“Because I wanted to have dinner with you,” Natasha explains through a scowl. She has one of her hands around Sharon’s neck while the other is wrapped around Sharon’s wrist, trying to make her let go.

“Okay,” Sharon says, because it’s the only thing she can come up with. Her mind is completely blank, all attention focused on the press of Natasha’s weight on top of her. “Sure, that's a normal thing to want.”

“Okay.” Natasha smiles, and it’s a small little pleased smile that makes Sharon swallow hard. “I don’t have any food allergies.”

Sharon blinks. “Thank you for letting me know.”

“You’re welcome,” Natasha replies. “Can you let go of my hair?”

Sharon blinks again and slowly untangles her hand from Natasha’s hair. “There you go.”

They get up and stand in Sharon’s office for a silent few seconds before Natasha gestures to the door. Sharon glances down at the knife, fingers itching, but when Natasha smiles at her and kicks the knife away with the heel of her boot, Sharon swallows and leads the way back to the kitchen.

“I only have leftover pepperoni pizza,” Sharon says when Natasha sits down at the counter. “I can microwave it?”

“That’s fine,” Natasha says, the picture of politeness with her hands clasped together over the counter. “I like pizza.”

“Me too.” Sharon turns to her fridge and stops short at the mugshot of Natasha’s face stuck on it. She glances at Natasha from the corner of her eye.

“Not my best moment,” Natasha confesses. “I can bring you a new picture, if you want.”

“That’s… fine,” Sharon replies slowly. She grabs the open pizza box stuck in her fridge and sets it by the sink. “Why are you here?”

Natasha smiles at her like Sharon’s the most amusing thing she’s ever seen. “To have dinner.”

“Bullshit,” Sharon surprises herself with the harshness of her tone. “Why are you in my house?”

Natasha’s smile slips, but her eyes still dance with mirth as she stares at Sharon. “Give me a slice of pizza and I’ll answer.”

Sharon grits her teeth but turns back around to serve Natasha. She doesn’t bother microwaving anything. If Natasha is going to be a jerk about this, then so will Sharon. And if she dies? Well. At least she managed to annoy the Widow for a few minutes. And at least she managed to slip another small knife into the waistband of her pants.

Sharon drops the plate in front of Natasha and crosses her arms over her chest, daring her to say anything. Natasha just raises an eyebrow at her and picks up her slice, taking a small bite of the crust before she sets it back down again.

“I wanted to see you,” Natasha says, and then asks, “Can I have a drink?”

“No. Now stop lying to me.”

Natasha licks her lips, and Sharon tries not to follow the movement. “We’re watching you.”

“Who? The people you work for?” Sharon leans forward, hands braced on the counter. “The Red Room?”

“You know things,” Natasha says with a pleased smile.

“I know you’re Russian,” Sharon tells her. “I know you were in a prison in Moscow until someone broke you out. I know you are exceptionally bright. Determined. Hardworking. Some might even say extraordinary.”

“Would you say that?” Natasha asks.

“Yes,” Sharon admits, and hates the little flutter in her stomach when Natasha’s smile widens. “Are you here to kill me?”

“No. Just to watch you.”

“On whose orders?” Sharon asks. “Who do you work for?”

“Do you not know?” Natasha takes another bite of her pizza. “Do you know who _you_ work for?”

Sharon’s breath catches in her lungs. “Do _you_?”

“If you go deep enough, you might find that we work for the same people,” Natasha informs her.

Sharon closes her eyes. So it’s not only Sitwell. It’s someone else, maybe several someones, higher than Fury and Maria in SHIELD’s ranks.

“Why are you telling me this?” Sharon whispers. She can’t wrap her head around it, why the Widow would try to help her. Unless this is some sick little game she plays before the order comes in for her to kill Sharon.

“I like your hair,” is what Natasha says, eyes gliding through the blond strands that curl and fall around Sharon’s face and shoulders. “It’s pretty.”

Sharon’s heart skips a beat for an entire different reason now. “Don’t tell me you have a crush on me.”

Natasha shrugs. “Okay.”

Sharon gapes at her, astonished. Natasha just keeps eating Sharon’s pizza, there is nothing odd at all about this situation. As if they’re just friends (or something else), having dinner together, after a tough day at work.

Sharon feels for the knife on her waistband when Natasha is too busy picking onions off her pizza. The handle feels smooth and hard on her palm. If she’s fast enough, she might—

“Don’t do that,” Natasha says just as Sharon rushes her.

They spin around with Natasha’s hand clamped on Sharon’s wrist, pressing down on the delicate bones there until the knife slips off Sharon’s hand and ends up in Natasha’s palm. Natasha crowds her until Sharon has her back pressed against the fridge and Natasha aiming a knife at her throat.

“You’re fast, but I’m faster,” Natasha tells her. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

“But you will, if you have to,” Sharon adds, breathing fast through her parted lips.

“Yes,” Natasha admits, the tip of the knife scraping at the soft skin of Sharon’s neck. “But I would be sad about it.”

Sharon huffs out a humorless laugh. “What do you really want?”

“I want you to find out who I work for,” Natasha answers. “I want you to do your job.”

“While you do yours.”

Natasha nods. “While I do mine.”

“Is that all?” Sharon asks dryly.

“I’d also like to see you again,” Natasha says, and then places a quick kiss to Sharon’s cheek. “But not tonight. Thank you for dinner. It was lovely.”

Sharon stares, open mouthed and glued to the spot, as Natasha drops her knife on the counter, grabs what’s left of her pizza slice, and disappears through the house. The place Natasha’s lips met her skin tingles and Sharon raises a shaking hand to touch her cheek.

“Fuck,” Sharon groans and closes her eyes, letting her knees fold under her until she slides down the fridge and flops to the ground.

Great. Just what she needed.

An assassin with a crush.

 

**

 

Natasha takes a sip of her tea and sits in the dark. She licks her lips, thinking about the way Sharon’s soft and warm skin felt pressed against them, and smiles to herself. Sharon fought her, as best as she knew how, and Natasha can appreciate that.

If she’s being honest, which she isn’t most of the time, that little fact sends a thrill of excitement sparkling in her stomach.

They’re not matched. No one would ever match Natasha, but Sharon makes things interesting.

And, Natasha sighs, Sharon’s hair is really pretty.

Natasha is still drinking her tea when Sitwell comes out of the shower, skin damp and wearing only a bathrobe. It takes him a minute too long to notice her sitting there, in his room, on the empty chair he used to discard his dirty clothes.

“What the _fu_ —” Sitwell squeals like the little pig he is, tripping on his own two feet and falling on the bed.

Natasha sets her mug down. “Hello.”

“Ple-ple-please don’t kill me,” Sitwell sputters, hands raised as if to beg or defend himself, eyes already filling with tears. “I didn’t tell them anything. I didn’t—”

“Do you think I care?” Natasha tilts her head to the side. Yes, the Red Room wants Sitwell dead for opening his mouth and telling people things he wasn’t meant to, but Natasha has another reason to have him in her sights.

Sitwell starts crying then, big fat tears running down his face and mixing together with snot. It’s an ugly picture, but not as ugly as what he’ll look like after Natasha is finished with him.

“I— I can give you money,” Sitwell tries, eyes darting out around the room like he’s trying to find a way out. “I can do whatever you want, just _please_.”

“You have no loyalty, do you?” Natasha tsks. “Only to yourself.”

“I have a lot of money,” Sitwell tells her.

Natasha lets herself smile then, unkind and mocking. “So do I.”

And with a flick of her wrist, Natasha grabs a knife from her belt and stabs Sitwell right through the eye.

It’s messy, but that’s the business Natasha has been in since she was a child. It does mean she needs to change her clothes, which are stained and covered in blood, but that’s what Sharon’s old hoodie and a new pair of yoga pants are for.

Natasha arranges the body, after it’s all said and done, so Sharon and her friends will find him lying peacefully and mutilated in his bed.

“Good job,” Natasha tells herself, pleased with what she’s done.

She buys a churro on her way back to her apartment, savoring the sweetness of it while she walks. Sharon’s hoodie is big and comfortable around her, giving her a cozy feeling she usually only gets when she’s alone at home, under a pile of blankets, holding on to her gun.

Natasha stops with her ballerina keychain in hand when she arrives at her place. The door is closed and locked like she left it, but her instincts are telling her she’s not the only person to have been here the past few hours.

With a half-eaten churro in her hand, Natasha unlocks the door and steps inside. And then promptly lets her churro fall to the floor.

“Ivan,” Natasha murmurs, sadness and fury ravaging a war inside of her as she stares at his body.

He’s on his back the floor, head turned to the side and blank eyes aimed at a painting on Natasha’s wall. There is blood pooling underneath him, red and thick and already drying, which means someone must have killed him while Natasha was having dinner with Sharon.

Natasha closes the door behind her and carefully makes her way towards him. There are knife wounds on his body, Natasha can tell from the torn clothes and cuts on his hands, but it’s the little round hole on his forehead that makes Natasha’s heart twist inside her chest.

“You couldn’t even die without getting me into trouble,” Natasha whispers, because this is what it is: trouble.

It’s warning to her, that the Red Room is on to her little tricks and on to the little gifts she so generously left for Sharon.

Ivan is the person who brought her in when she was a child. By killing him in her apartment, a place that was supposed to be secured and protected by the organization, they’re sending her a message. They’ll be coming for her next.

They’ve finally realized, after decades, that Natasha isn’t the little maliable doll they thought her to be.

And Natasha’s realized, as she stares at Ivan’s dead body, that now is time for her to finally bring this to an end.

 

**

 

Sharon almost stabs one of her throw pillow when her phone rings, knife clutched tightly in hand. She’s still a little tense from Natasha’s visit and… kiss, so she cuts herself some slack and takes a steadying breath before answering her phone.

“Fury is coming to pick you up,” Maria tells her without bothering with a greeting. “Sitwell is dead.”

“I’ll be ready,” Sharon answers, while going _fuck, fuck, fuck_ in her head.

Fury’s face is grim when Sharon climbs into the car. “I didn’t like him, but…”

“How bad is it?” Sharon asks, stomach churning with dread.

“Bad,” is all Fury says, which is answer enough for her.

Maria is waiting for them by the door, face pale and lips thin, and there’s a light tremor to her hands when she waves them inside. “It’s not… pretty. So if you need to throw up, please don’t do it all over the evidence.”

Sharon sets her jaw and nods once, ignoring the way sweat starts pooling at her back. This won’t be her first dead body; just the first one she sees live and in colors and… smells.

Sharon brings a hand to her mouth to keep herself from gagging when she sees Sitwell’s body on the bed. There is blood around him on the sheets, on his bathrobe, on his skin. Sitwell stares back at them with only one eye, bloody mouth opened in a silent scream.

“She took out his eye?” Sharon asks, bile rising up her throat.

“That’s not the only thing she took,” Maria says quietly, and closes her eyes. “His tongue was found floating in the toilet.”

Sharon reels back a few steps until she bumps into the wall, breathing harsh and irregular. “Fuck,” she whispers and covers her face with her hands, just trying to keep it together.

“C’mon.” Fury sets a hand on her shoulder and guides her through the hallway and out of the house. “You doing okay?”

Sharon shakes her head. She’s not doing okay. She focuses on the fresh air around her face, on the beats of her heart, on the rise and fall of her chest when she breathes.

Maria shows up a few seconds later, face set and eyes shining with anger. “How did she find out about the safehouse?”

“She was in my house,” Sharon answers, voice distant and small to her own ears.

“What?” Maria barks. “ _Again_?”

Sharon breathes out through her mouth a few times, and then braces herself to tell Fury and Maria about Natasha’s second visit. It goes about as well as to be expected, considering the circumstances, which is to say: pretty bad.

“Son of a bitch,” Fury curses when Sharon is done. He looks like he doesn’t know whether to shake her or clap her on the shoulder for not dying. “She has an agenda.”

“She wants us to know how deep this goes,” Sharon tells them. “She said she wants us to do our jobs.”

Maria snorts and points her head back at the house. “Fine way she has of helping us.”

“This goes deep,” Fury says, and waves a hand when Maria and Sharon flash him with a sharp gaze. “We shouldn’t do this outside. We can meet at the office after we call this in, and I’ll explain.”

“I’ll call Daisy,” Sharon says. “I’m sorry about this.”

Maria and Fury’s expressions soften a little, and Maria reaches out to lay a hand on her arm. “This is not your fault.”

Sharon nods and tries to believe her.

 

**

 

Daisy types away at the computer while Sharon, Maria, and Fury stand around her. “I kept looking into the files the Widow gave us after we found out about Sitwell’s involvement,” she says. “I focused on the folders that already gave us something useful. The bank statements and stolen identities. Trying to look for patterns, trace account numbers, figure out who was behind what. ”

“I asked her to prioritize accounts that have been active longer,” Fury tells them.

“Check their history.” Sharon nods in understanding. “See who’s been on the payroll for a long time and who they're pretending to be and hiding behind.”

Fury points a finger at her. “Exactly. Daisy found some pretty interesting things.”

Daisy turns on her chair to face them, face grim. “So, basically, SHIELD’s dirty.”

Maria slowly closes her eyes and sort of slumps into herself, sitting back down on one of their work tables and pinching the bridge of her nose. “That’s what every agent wants to hear.”

Fury places a comforting hand on her shoulder. “We know we’re clean, that we can trust ourselves. I’m sure we’re not the only ones.”

“You’re not,” Daisy chimes in, and turns back around to face her computer. “I could trace things back to most of the higher ups, all receiving payments through the same setup Sitwell used. Some have been for _years_ , others just these past few months, but there are still a few who are clear. The problem is that this isn’t just SHIELD.”

“It’s the government,” Sharon adds, gazing up at the ceiling.

 _Dammit, Natasha_.

“Some parts of it,” Daisy confirms, and then hesitates.

“What Daisy is wary of saying is that some familiar faces are among the people who are connected to the Red Room,” Fury explains. “And some are _really_ familiar. So familiar I’d call them friends.”

“Who?” Maria asks, face tight.

Daisy pulls up a file, and Sharon has to swallow back a gasp when she sees Secretary Pierce’s face staring back at her.

“That’s…” Sharon starts, not knowing how to find the words.

Luckily, Fury does it for her, “Fucked. That’s fucked.”

“I’d say,” Daisy agrees with a mutter. “Whoever gave this to us was pretty thorough in handing in all the necessary clues we'd need to uncover all of this. The folders don't exactly give us a comprehensive list with names and addresses of every Red Room member, but it's close enough.”

“We need to bring SHIELD down,” Maria says in a sharp tone that leaves no room for discussion. “We need to bring the Red Room down.”

 _Just like Natasha asked_ , Sharon thinks to herself.

“A lot of this will help.” Daisy gestures at the computer. “Whoever gave it to you sure risked the Red Room coming after them.”

Sharon’s heart skips a beat, and she trades a look with Maria and Fury. Neither of them say who gifted them the flash drive that’s now helping them uncover a government wide corruption ring. And before either of them can expand on the subject, Daisy’s computer pings.

“Oh shit,” Daisy says, eyes flying over the screen. “Someone’s dead.”

“Natasha?” Sharon rushes to ask, ignoring the way Maria and Fury stare at her.

“I set up a system to ping us when murders with a certain… style were committed,” Daisy explains. “So if this got flagged, it definitely has something to do with your girl.”

Sharon ignores the butterflies in her stomach at those words. “Who is it?”

“An Ivan Petrovitch,” Daisy replies, pulling up more information as she goes. “Found stabbed and shot through the head at…” she stops. “Oh.”

“What?” Sharon prompts

“At an apartment leased by one Natalie Rushman.” Daisy looks at Sharon. “That’s not a coincidence.”

“What can you find out about Ivan?” Maria asks, pulling up a chair and sitting down. She grabs one of Sharon’s yellow pads and a pen and starts making notes.

Daisy types away at the computer for a few minutes before she answers, “Ivan Petrovitch Bezukhov, 55 years old, born in Moscow, Russia. Studied at some fancy Russian school when he was a teenager and later moved to the States to attend university before coming back to the Motherland. Never married, no ki— oh, wait. One kid.”

“He had a child?” Maria pauses with her pen hovering mid-air.

“Adopted,” Daisy informs her. “One… uh. And the plot thickens.”

“Daisy,” Fury warns her.

“He adopted a little girl,” Daisy tells her. “Natalia Alianovna Romanova.”

“Natasha,” Sharon whispers.

“Any outside connections to the Red Room?” Fury asks. “Aside from the obvious one.”

“Let me just do a quick Google,” Daisy says under her breath.

Fury snorts. “I doubt you’ll that kind of information on—”

“Got it!” Daisy grins at them. “Even spies have public faces. And some of them are a little closer to reality than others. Like this one.”

Daisy shows them a picture from what looks to be one of those fancy government balls Aunt Peggy used to be invited to. It shows three man standing together side by side, all dressed in sharp tuxedos and smiling at the camera. Sharon recognizes Ivan, but that’s not the only familiar face in the picture.

“Pierce,” Fury growls, one eye narrowed as he stares at the face of someone who used to call friend.

“Who is the other one?” Maria asks, jaw clenched tight.

“Let me see,” Daisy drawls. “Aleksander Lukin. Also Russian. Filthy rich. I think he owns a ballet company?”

“How do we know they’re connected and not just,” Maria waves a hand at the screen, “at the same place at the same time.”

Daisy raises a finger and then goes back to Google. It takes her only a few hits on the keyboard to pull up more pictures of the three of them together.

“And here we go.” Daisy clicks one link, which reveals to them a picture of Ivan, Pierce, and Lukin, looking younger by many decades. “They went to the same university here, in the States. I think this was taken right before Ivan adopted our little Widow. If you give me a few minutes, I'm sure I can find something about them in the Red Room files.”

Maria nods at Daisy. “Please.”

“He wasn’t only her father,” Sharon says with a sick kind of understanding as she stares at the three of them together. “He must have been her handler, the person who brought her into this.”

“And she killed him,” Fury adds.

Sharon shakes her head. “I don’t think so. The set up is too… _obvious_. We know Natasha is arrogant, but she’s never been stupid enough to make herself traceable.”

“There’s always the first time,” Fury points out.

“Not with Natasha,” Sharon says, conviction rising in her. “She asked us to figure this out. She asked us to bring down the Red Room, to look into SHIELD, while she took care of things her own way. That won’t work if she gets arrested. This wasn’t her. This was someone wanting to make it _look_ like it was her. Maybe the Red Room didn’t take too kindly to her sharing their secrets.”

“Wait,” Daisy speaks up. “Are you telling me the _Widow_ gave us these files?”

“In a little black box,” Sharon confirms, and her lips quirk up in a smile. “With some perfume.”

“Oh my god,” Daisy laughs. “Who even _is she_?”

“I think we’d all like to know the answer to that question,” Maria says with a dry tone, and then turns to Sharon. “Those are dangerous assumptions to make about her intentions.”

“I know,” Sharon sighs. “But I know I’m right.”

She also knows that with Ivan dead, it means Natasha is on the run.

“Gut feeling?” Fury asks, smirking a little.

Sharon shrugs.

“Gut feelings haven’t failed me yet.” Fury claps his hands together. “If we’re doing this, we better get ready.”

“ _Are_ we doing this?” Sharon asks, heart racing with hope.

Fury glances at Pierce’s picture. “I have some scores to settle.”

“I’ve always tried to do the right thing,” Maria says. “I’m not about to stop now.”

They all look at Daisy, who smiles, excited and brave, and says, “I’m always up for taking down bad guys.”

 

**

 

The trail of bodies starts five days later.

Daisy gets pinged about a new murder that fits Natasha’s style every three days or so. All from different places across the world, all brutally murdered, all somehow connected to Ivan or Pierce or Lukin or all three. Which means they are all connected to the Red Room, a fact that is confirmed by Daisy after she finds mentions of Ivan, Lukin, and Pierce in the files Natasha gave them.

Sharon knows what this is. Natasha is finally showing her handlers the kind of person they turned her into.

Fury is reluctantly impressed by the carnage. “Just because it looks like she’s successfully killing every Red Room operative, doesn’t mean we should trust her.”

Sharon bites back a smile, but she knows he has a point. Natasha herself told her she would do what she had to, even if it meant hurting Sharon.

“We’re going after her,” Maria states once the fifth body piles up.

“To arrest her?” Sharon asks, stomach jumping with nerves.

“To see where she leads us,” Maria answers. “She has a plan. These aren’t random killings. She’s going up the ladder, killing high ranking Red Room officers, and…” Maria sighs. “And she might need help.”

Sharon tries her best to contain her relief and smile, but she knows Maria notices it. They’re off the next morning, with Daisy and Fury staying back to work this from another angle. They need evidence, as much of it as they can gather, to make all of this public. It might not make too much of a difference after Natasha’s killed half the Red Room, but they’ll need something more than weapons to bring Pierce and Lukin down.

Sharon just hopes none of them will get killed first.

 

**

 

Natasha is tired.

She was trained for this, for killing, but she’s outrunning her own death now. She knows the Red Room will come for her soon. Either by sending someone after her or by waiting until she comes to them.

Natasha is secure in her knowledge that she’s one of the best of them, but there are a handful of Red Room operatives who could give her a run for money. Yelena Belova is one of them.

There is little surprise to be felt when Yelena sits down across from Natasha. This particular French restaurant has always been one of their favorites, back when they were on the same side. Back when they were children.

Yelena’s presence means the Red Room isn't waiting for Natasha to come to them, not anymore. A disappointment. Natasha was looking forward to another trip.

“You’re smarter than this,” Yelena says as she grabs Natasha’s wine glass and takes a sip. “You know you won’t win.”

“I haven’t lost so far,” Natasha replies. “You don’t have to do this. You could be free.”

“I am free,” Yelena throws back. “I’m just not as greedy as you.”

Natasha sighs. She likes Yelena. It’ll be a pity to see her dead.

Still, neither of them hesitate before they reach for their weapons.

 

**

 

Daisy’s call comes when Maria and Sharon are driving through Paris.

“What have you got?” Maria asks, hands curled tight around the steering wheel.

“I found her!” Daisy yells, breathless with urgency. She rattles off the address for a fancy restaurant a few blocks from where they are. “Reports came in for two women fighting. Shots were fired. They let all of the guests go except one. A kid. They’re holding him hostage.”

Sharon’s heart trips inside her chest just as panic and adrenaline course through her body. She checks her weapon, eyes scanning the streets, and feels only a little sick at the news.

“Shit,” Maria curses. She takes a sharp turn and almost hits a cyclist, who yells back at her in French. “Police on the scene?”

“Getting there.” They hear Daisy typing for a few seconds before she says, “I’m sending you the plans for the building. I can sneak you in before they arrive.”

“Daisy, you’re a genius,” Sharon tells her, grinning despite herself.

“I know,” Daisy answers. “Have your guns ready.”

It’s surprisingly easy to sneak into the restaurant by following Daisy’s instructions, but Sharon still feels like her heart might burst out of her chest at any minute. Natasha is in there somewhere, with another Red Room assassin, and an innocent child between them.

Sharon’s heart almost stops in her chest when they reach the salon. There is Natasha, bloody and with her black dress torn, with a gun in hand. Her grip is steady, and she’s aiming the weapon at the blond woman that stands in front of her.

“Surrender, Natalia,” the woman says, looking just as bruised and bloody. She has an arm around a teenage boy’s neck, her own gun aimed at his head. “Or I will kill him.”

Natasha shrugs. “That’s fine. I will just shoot you after you shoot him.”

“That’s promising,” Maria whispers. “If I tackle the blond one, can you grab the kid and get out?”

“I—” Sharon starts, but Maria doesn’t really wait for an answer.

Maria throws herself at the woman, catching her enough by surprise that her arm slips from around the boy’s neck and he manages to get free. Sharon runs forward and grabs him by the wrist, pulling and then pushing him towards the hallway they snuck in from, telling him to run.

A shot rings out when Sharon turns her attention to Maria and the other woman. Blood forms at Maria’s shirt, right by her left shoulder, but it’s still not enough to make her let go or stop fighting. Natasha runs towards them before Sharon can move and kicks Maria on the side, effectively getting her off the woman. And then, before any of them can say anything, Natasha aims her gun at the woman’s head and pulls the trigger.

Sharon jumps as the shot rings through the room, impossibly loud and final. Natasha is breathing hard, and there’s a shine to her eyes that hits Sharon like a punch in the gun.

“I’m sorry, Yelena,” Natasha murmurs. “You were a good friend while it lasted.”

“Stop right there,” Maria tells Natasha, gun raised in her direction. Her shoulder is still bleeding from where Yelena managed to shoot her, but that doesn’t hinder her.

“Hello,” Natasha tells her, raising her gun in kind. “You are not going to shoot me.”

“Why’s that?” Maria pants.

Natasha looks at Sharon then, eyes still sad. “Because the work is not done,” she says, and takes a step away from them.

Sharon is the one who brings up her gun this time, aimed at Natasha, her hand shaking only slightly. Natasha goes still, considering her, and then raises her own weapon.

“Sharon…” Natasha starts, but Sharon stops her.

“Come with me,” Sharon begs her. “Come with me. Just the two of us. Please. _Please_.”

Natasha smiles, a wobbly little smile that makes Sharon want to throw her gun down and hug her. “It’s not our time yet, baby,” she says, bringing a hand to her lips and blowing Sharon a kiss.

With her other hand, Natasha aims high, and shoots straight over Sharon’s head.

Sharon and Maria duck and, when they look up, Natasha is gone.

 

**

 

“What was that about?” Maria asks Sharon as she stitches herself up back in their hotel room, blood flowing down her arm.

“What?” Sharon asks, pretending she doesn’t know what Maria is asking.

Maria raises at eyebrow at her and then looks pointedly down at her arm. “I just got shot. You don’t want to try me right now.”

Sharon sighs and curls her hands into fists. “I thought I could get her to come with us,” she says, which is only half a truth. She thought she could get Natasha to come with _her_ , so they could finish this, together. “She’s not Red Room anymore, but she’s one of their best. She’s skilled. She could be—”

“An asset?” Maria interrupts her, incredulous. “Are you really trying to recruit her?”

Sharon shrugs again, feeling blood rush to her cheeks. She wants Natasha near. If that extends to Natasha working with them, Sharon doesn’t really know. It’s a good plan, though, a good excuse. The more she thinks about it, she knows it could work. Yet mostly, she just wants to make sure Natasha is okay.

Maria opens her mouth to say something else, but stops when her phone rings. She hisses when she tries to grab it, so Sharon leans forward and does it for her, taking the call herself.

“What’s up?”

“Is Maria okay?” is Daisy’s first question, which makes Sharon smile.

“Yeah, she is,” Sharon says with a glance at Maria, who gestures she’s going to the bathroom to clean up. “What’s up?”

“Well, I found something you’ll want to check out,” Daisy says. “Rent payments from Ivan’s private accounts. They’re all to a small apartment in the city, about twenty minutes away from where you are. And guess who’s on the lease?” she prompts, but doesn’t wait for an answer, “None other than Natalia Petrovitch.”

“Fuck,” Sharon breathes out. She grabs her phone and opens her Notes app. “What’s the address?”

Sharon writes it down, and then carefully sets Mari’s phone on the bed after she hangs up.

“What did she want?” Maria asks when she gets out of the bathroom, shoulder bandaged tight.

“Just to know how you were doing,” Sharon lies before she really thinks about it.

There’s a plan already forming in her head. She can go check out Natasha’s place without Maria, who should stay in bed and rest. It’ll give her a better chance of figuring out what Natasha’s doing. Plus, it’s only fair. Natasha broke into her house first.

“I’m tired,” Maria answers. “And pissed. And in pain.”

“I’m sorry.”

Maria shakes her head at her. “Not your fault.”

Sharon takes a deep breath. “I was thinking of going out to buy us some dinner. And get some pain pills for you.”

“That sounds good.” Maria nods, gently lowering herself on the bed with a wince. “Just be careful. Take your gun.”

Sharon does, and waits until she’s two blocks away from the hotel to catch a cab to Natasha’s home. The address isn’t hard to find, nor is getting into the building. All Sharon needs to worry about is if Natasha is around and, if she isn’t, how she’s going to get inside the apartment.

“Okay, lets try this.” Sharon combs her hair away from her face with her fingers before knocking on Natasha’s left neighbor’s door.

“ _Hello_ ,” an old lady answers in French with a kind smile, her eyebrows raised at she stares at Sharon.

“ _Hi, I’m looking for someone_?” Sharon rummages around her purse until she finds the cropped copy of Natasha’s mugshot. She shows it to the old lady. “ _Natalia_?”

“ _Ah_ ,” the old lady says, and then leans in to whispers, “ _Are you— are you from the—_ ”

 _“From the—_ ” Sharon repeats right before understanding dawns. This old lady wants tinkle if she’s a Red Room spy. “ _Ooohh, yes. I am. I am. I just want to make sure everything is in order._ ”

The old lady winks at her. “ _Everything is fine. Would you like to see my records_?”

Sharon blinks. “ _Yes_.”

 _“I’m Jeannine. I had my spyhole moved down so that I could sit by the door_ ,” Jeannine says while Sharon follows her inside. “ _You paid for it, though_.”

Sharon smiles and lets Jeannine show her the documentation, which mostly consists of lots of fake passports and a little ballerina porcelain doll.

“ _Have you seen Natalia_?” Sharon asks.

Jeannine shakes her head. “ _Not for a while. Is she alright?_ ”

“ _Yes_ ,” Sharon assures her. “ _We’d just like to touch base_.”

Jeannine nods in understanding. “ _Would you like a key to her apartment?”_

Sharon almost does a little victory dance at the offer, but manages to contain her enthusiasm to one little, _“Yes_.”

 

**

 

Natasha’s apartment looks exactly like Sharon thought it would yet still entirely different from what she’d imagine. It’s cozy in a way that makes Sharon’s tense muscles relax, with furniture that values comfort over money. There are quite a few paintings adorning the walls, as well as a shelf filled with vinyl records and old paperbacks novels all written in different languages.

Sharon walks through the apartment and makes a pit stop at Natasha’s kitchen. She hits gold when she finds a little box of macaroons left on the counter, and doesn’t hesitate to grab it and eat one. That can be her snack while she breaks and enters, just like Natasha did with her Oreos.

Natasha's room gives Sharon pause, but only for a second. There’s a soft purple quilt spread over the bed and about five different pillows leaning against the headboard. More coziness, here in the place Natasha lets herself rest.

The closet is another thing entirely, though.

It seems like all of Natasha’s expensive tastes have translated to mountains and mountains of jackets, coats, dresses, blouses, and pants. Sharon runs her hands through the fine fabrics until she gets to a dark blue fur coat, fluffy and soft, that looks just about her size. Sharon feels no remorse when she slips the coat on. She breathes in deep, taking in the faint scent of vanilla that fills her senses.

Natasha’s sweet scent.

Which, of course, is when Natasha walks through the door.

Sharon stops sniffing the coat and grabs the macaron box, walking to Natasha’s bedroom door. Natasha catches sight of her through the corner of her eye and raises an eyebrow, a surprised smile coming to play at her lips.

“You’re eating my food,” Natasha murmurs just as her eyes dance up to Sharon’s face. “And wearing my clothes.”

Sharon offers the box to Natasha and asks, “Do you want some?”

It's like she's outside of her own body. Like here, in Natasha’s safe haven, what they've been through and what they've done doesn't matter.

Natasha huffs out a little laugh, surprised and amused all at once. “Sit,” she says, gesturing to her bed.

Sharon goes while Natasha takes her own seat on a chair facing the bed. They stare at each other for a few seconds, not saying anything, not fighting, not trying to murder one another.

“I think about you all the time,” Sharon breaks the silence, the words bubbling out of her like a wave. This isn't a good idea. Natasha is an assassin, a murderer, and here is Sharon about to confess her feelings. Feelings she shouldn't have.

Natasha looks shocked for a second, something Sharon counts as another victory. “You do?”

“Yes,” Sharon admits. “I think about what you're wearing and what you're doing and who you're doing it with. I think about what you eat before you work and what shampoo you use and what happened with your family. I think about what Ivan and the Red Room must have done to you. And I think about your eyes and your mouth and what you feel when you kill someone.”

Natasha laughs, low and free and like a song, and says, “I think about you too.”

“Well, good.” Sharon breathes out a sigh of relief, excitement and hope and something else curling in his stomach. There is nothing normal about this situation, this obsession, but at least Natasha is right there with her. Which is the entire point, isn't it?

Natasha presses her lips to try and hide a smile, but doesn’t succeed. Her happy expression lasts for only a few seconds, and then it’s replaced by something serious.

“The Red Room was my home,” Natasha tells her, like admitting to a secret. “They raised me and they taught me and they made me who I am.”

“What about Ivan?” Sharon asks, shifting forward on the bed.

“Ivan was… a protector,” Natasha says. “But not a father. He brought me into the Red Room when I was 5 years old. It’s all I’ve known, but it’s not what I want anymore.”

Sharon leans forward and takes Natasha’s hand in hers, squeezing it once. Natasha tangles their fingers together and holds on tight.

“What happened?” Sharon asks.

“I got bored,” Natasha says with a little smile. “My handlers got complacent. It’s dangerous to leave someone like me without a real challenge. We might just make up our own.”

The pieces slowly click in Sharon’s mind. “You did it on purpose.”

“I’m arrogant, but not this much,” Natasha says. “I thought making my kills more obviously mine would be more interesting than what the Red Room wanted me to do. I have no interest in living in a world dominated by chaos, which is their goal. I like my life. They gave it to me, but I made it my own. Our goals don’t align anymore.”

“So you made sure someone noticed what was going on,” Sharon adds.

“I knew they weren't going to let me go.” Natasha shrugs. “I know too much. I know how deep the lie goes. If I wanted to get out…”

“You’d have to bring them all down,” Sharon finishes.

“Yes,” Natasha confirms. “I want to be my own person. I just didn’t know you’d be the one helping me along.”

Sharon shakes her head, and it’s the easiest thing in the world for her to lean in and capture Natasha’s lips in hers. Natasha gasps a little against her mouth, once again caught off guard, and Sharon smiles into the kiss. Her hand comes to rest on the side of Natasha’s neck, pulling her closer, while Natasha’s fingers find home by tangling through her hair.

“I love your hair,” Natasha whispers against Sharon’s lips.

Sharon answers by pulling Natasha to her, both of them toppling back onto the bed. They break the kiss with laughter and move around until they reach Natasha’s pile of pillows, and then they’re holding on to each other again.

And it is, once again, the easiest thing in the world for Sharon to slip her hand under Natasha’s sweater and help her out of it, just as Natasha helps Sharon get rid of her own clothes. Sharon gasps at the first touch of skin to skin, Natasha’s warmth surrounding her, and lets her hands roam as they wish.

Kasia had been right. Natasha’s breasts are small and fit perfectly into Sharon’s palm, and she makes the sweetest gasping sound when Sharon closes her mouth around one of her nipples. Natasha’s hands stay in Sharon’s hair, urging her on as Sharon explores her body, kissing and biting and sucking her way down Natasha’s stomach.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” Natasha asks as she gathers Sharon’s hair in a loose ponytail between her hands, her thighs on either side of Sharon’s head.

Sharon places a kiss to the inside of Natasha’s thigh. “Yes. I want you. And I don’t want to regret not taking this chance.”

Natasha smiles at her, vulnerable and a little wicked, and lightly kicks Sharon’s back with her heel. “Go on, then.”

Sharon laughs, but that’s swallowed up by a moan when she gets her first taste of Natasha. Natasha groans and pushes down onto Sharon’s face, her mouth, hips moving in tiny circles as Sharon licks and sucks at her. It’s only when Natasha’s thighs are trembling around her that Sharon starts teasing her with a finger, before slowly pushing inside.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Natasha curses, the first time Sharon’s ever heard her do so.

It only spurs Sharon on, now focusing her attention on Natasha’s clit, trying to bring her closer and closer to the edge. Natasha’s grip on Sharon’s hair tightens when she comes around Sharon’s tongue, with Sharon’s name of her lips, until she goes limp on the bed, trembling a little. Sharon drops a kiss right under her navel before moving up the bed, pausing only to wipe her mouth with a corner of Natasha’s purple quilt.

“C’mere,” Natasha mumbles, pulling Sharon to her with a hand through Sharon’s hair.

The kiss is deep and slow, like Natasha wants to taste herself on Sharon’s tongue, know what they did was real. Sharon moans into it when Natasha’s hand settles between her legs, fingers finding her opening while Natasha thumbs at her clit. Sharon rides her hand, chasing the hot flush of pleasure that spreads through her and makes her shake, until she finally comes under Natasha’s hands.

They lay together, limbs tangled and breathing harsh, trading soft kisses as their bodies calm down. Sharon nuzzles her nose against Natasha’s, holding her close while Natasha plays with her hair.

“We can’t stay here forever,” Natasha murmurs with an edge of disappointment, a match to Sharon’s own feelings.

“No, we can’t,” Sharon agrees.

They still have things left to do. On both sides.

“You’ll stay alive,” Natasha tells her with a kiss. “And I’ll find you after it’s all said and done.”

 

**

 

“Took you long enough,” Maria complains when Sharon finds her way back to the motel room, carrying a small bag of food for them to share and pills for Maria.

“There was a line,” Sharon lies. She can still taste Natasha on her tongue, feel Natasha’s hands on her body, and her legs tremble a little as she sits down on her own bed across from Maria and divides their food.

Maria stares at her for a second too long. “Sure,” she says, like she doesn’t quite believe Sharon. She doesn’t push further, doesn’t ask any questions, both of them silent while they eat.

It’s about two hours later when Maria’s phone rings with a call from Fury, startling them from the French tv show they were watching.

“You’re on speaker,” Maria says when she answers.

“We’re ready,” Fury tells them, and those words light a fire in Sharon’s heart. “Daisy has enough for us act.”

“Are you sure?” Sharon asks. They can’t take any chances with this.

“Absolutely. The Widow was really thorough with what she got us,” Fury reluctantly admits. “It’s enough to end this. We just need to make sure the big ones don’t try to get away.

“Pierce and Lukin,” Maria mutters.

“We’ll get Pierce first,” Fury says, voice low and rough with anger. “He’s the one with connections to SHIELD and the US Government.”

 _He’s your friend_ , Sharon thinks, but keeps her mouth shut.

“We’ll be on the next flight,” Maria assures him and then ends the call. “We better start packing. I’m going to need your help carrying my bags.”

They rush to get their things ready, but Sharon takes a moment to lock herself in the bathroom and grab her phone. There, in her contacts list, is Natasha’s number. Sharon types a quick message, just to let her know of their plans, and then finishes getting ready to leave.

They’re doing this.

They’re bringing the Red Room down.

 

**

 

Secretary Pierce greets them like nothing out of the ordinary is happening. Sharon isn’t sure how much he knows about what they know, but she, Maria, and Fury don’t walk into his office unarmed. Pierce isn’t defenseless either, Rumlow, one of his bodyguards, stands behind him as Pierce waves them into his office, a silent and dark presence in the room.

“To what do I owe the honor of this visit?” Pierce asks them with a smile, taking a seat on one of the armchairs set up in the office while Sharon, Maria and Fury are directed to the couch across from the coffee table that rests between the furniture.

Sharon takes a deep breath. They have a plan. It’s simple in its execution, but it’ll take a little bit of acting on their part.

“We bring some… disturbing news,” Fury answers, face tight with displeasure.

Pierce himself frowns in mock concern. “If you and Agent Hill are here—” he stops, and glances at Sharon. “I don’t believe we’ve been introduced.”

“This is Sharon Carter,” Maria adds, and Sharon gives Pierce a nod of her head. “She’s been instrumental in this investigation.”

“And what investigation would that be?” Pierce asks with a raised eyebrow, clasping his hands together and leaning back on his chair.

“Ms. Carter put together a dossier on a series of murders before she was let go from SHIELD,” Fury explains. “They caught Agent Hill’s attention, considering the influential connections of each victim.”

“I see,” Pierce hums. “Were they all committed by the same person?”

“We believe so,” Maria adds. “We’ve been investigating the murders independently since Ms. Carter was disconnected from SHIELD. It seems like the assassin works for an organization, the Red Room, whose goal is to eliminate people who would oppose their agenda and/or interfere with their plans. We made the decision not to come forward when we discovered that SHIELD agents had been compromised and recruited into the Red Room.”

“But you’re coming forward now,” Pierce says, expression going completely blank.

Sharon checks her watch. Only 5 minutes until Daisy puts in motion her part of the plan.

“We’ve reached a point in the investigation where we’re secure enough in our knowledge of who’s behind all of this,” Fury says without emotion.

Sharon holds her breath. Her gun is tucked safely inside her boot, pressing against her ankle, but easy enough to reach when Pierce makes his move. Which should be right about—

“Rumlow,” Pierce barks, just as he gives the coffee table a kick and sends it flying towards Sharon and the other’s faces.

An alarm blares, which means Rumlow must have activated something, and the room starts going under lockdown. Rumlow begins shooting at them a second later. Sharon ducks and grabs her weapon, while Maria rolls sideways to try and cover Fury by shooting back at Rumlow. It gives her just enough time to crawl towards Pierce’s desk and plug a flash drive to his laptop.

“You did this,” Pierce snarls in Sharon’s direction when she sees him near his desk, gun in hand and aimed. He shoots.

Sharon moves just in time to avoid getting hit and then shoots back, glad to see Pierce flinch and try to take cover behind the couch. Rumlow tries to get to her, taking his attention off Fury and Maria for a minute, which is enough time for Fury to get past him and tackle Pierce to the ground when Pierce tries to reach the emergency exit hidden behind one of his many office shelves.

“You little bitch,” Rumlow spits out as he rushes Sharon, only to be tackled by Maria and lose his gun.

“You fucking traitor,” Maria grunts while they tussle on the ground. Sharon can see Maria’s shoulder is bleeding again, but that doesn’t stop her from aiming a well deserved punch to Rumlow’s face.

Fury and Pierce are busy with their own fight, weapons on the ground, just a flurry of fists and kicks and rage. Sharon knows to leave Fury to deal with Pierce by himself; that kind of betrayal deserves to be avenged in whatever way Fury sees fit. She’s not about to leave Maria, though.

With her gun in a steady grip, Sharon aims it straight at Rumlow’s head while Maria rolls off from being on top of him. “Don’t move.”

Rumlow laughs. “Fuck _you_ ,” he says, and then lunges for Maria again, this time with a knife held tight in hand.

Sharon doesn’t let him get to her.

Her ears ring when she takes the shot, but her heart beats with relief when Rumlow slumps to the ground, a perfectly round bullet hole on his left temple. Sharon stands there, panting and stunned, watching as the blood starts pooling on the carpeted floor.

“Thanks,” Maria says with a wince, holding on to her shoulder.

“No problem,” Sharon answers, too dazed to comprehend what she just did, that she just killed a person.

“It’s over, Pierce,” Fury grunts when his next punch connects to Pierce’s stomach.

Pierce doubles over and falls to the ground, well-groomed hair now sticking to his forehead with sweat. “It’s never over. You’ll never catch us all.”

Fury smiles then, big and cruel and smug as fuck, taking the time to grab his gun again from where it fell to the floor. “We already did,” he says, and at Pierce’s wide-eyed look, he continues, “A little spider gave us a starting point. You, in your own arrogance, gave us the rest. As we speak, one of our own is dumping all the files the Widow gave us on the Red Room online. And that’s in addition to the ones found in your laptop.”

“What—” Pierce glances at his work desk and his eyes fall to the flash drive. His face twists, teeth bared and eyes wide in a mask of rage that makes Sharon hold on a little tighter to her gun. “You son of a bi—”

Pierce lunges at Fury, but not before Fury raises his gun and pulls the trigger once, twice, three times. He falls at Fury’s feet, twitching only once before his body goes completely still. Fury stares at him for a few seconds in complete silence before he takes a step back and pockets his gun.

“We still need to go after Lukin,” Maria says, bringing Sharon and Fury’s attention to her.

“Not necessary,” someone says from inside the room. “He’s been taken care of.”

 

**

 

Natasha stares at the bodies lining the floor and fights back a smile. She was right to trust Sharon and her team. Even if two of them are pointing guns at her right this second. Natasha holds still, concealing the stab of pain she feels on her ribs when she tenses her muscles.

The fight with Lukin had the ending Natasha expected, but it wasn’t easy. There is a reason he was at the head of the Red Room. Yet there is also a reason Natasha is one of their best assassins. While Lukin languished away scheming instead of fighting, Natasha had been training and perfecting her skills. It took her time and taking a few hits: a kick to the ribs, a cut on cheek, blood all over her clothes. But she won, with her knife buried in Lukin’s throat.

Sharon whirls around when Natasha speaks and slips into the room through Pierce’s hidden emergency exit. Her eyes widens as she takes in the blood covering Natasha, gaze flickering over her as if to look for injuries. Natasha keeps her face impassive but revels in the warmth that wraps itself around her heart.

“Stay where you are,” Fury snaps at her, gun once back in his hand.

Sharon steps in from of Natasha before Natasha can open her mouth. The barrel of Fury and Maria’s guns are aimed straight at Sharon now, something that only slightly concerns Natasha at the moment.

“Don’t shoot her,” Sharon says, hands raised in a calming gesture. “We wouldn’t have done of this without her. She helped us bring the organization down.”

“And she killed a bunch of people along the way,” Fury points out with a dry tone.

“Without anyone finding out who I am,” Natasha reminds him. “Not until I wanted them to. I’m an _excellent_ spy. And I find myself a free agent at the moment. I'm sure you'll consider what that means before trying to kill me.”

Fury blinks once, head tilting to the side just a motion, and then his lips twitch. “Right.”

Maria snorts, lowering her gun, and then takes a seat on Pierce’s desk. “Are you looking for a new job?” she asks Natasha, half joking, half considering.

Natasha lets herself smile now. She looks at Sharon, who is still standing in front of her in a protective stance, and says, “I could be convinced.”

 

**

 

It doesn’t stop there.

The three of them almost get arrested — Natasha snuck out before the lockdown was lifted —, but Fury’s unflinching recount of the situation, plus all of the evidence Daisy had put out there, mean they only have to spend one night behind bars before they’re let go. There are still interviews and indictments and too many trips to a courtroom to count, but the chaos the leak brings also gives them a chance for a better future.

A future that, three months later, after SHIELD’s been disbanded and Maria is now in charge of her own agency while Fury enjoys retirement, Sharon is making the best of.

“How do you feel about waffles for breakfast?” Sharon asks as she rummages through her cupboards to gather the ingredients.

“I feel good about them,” Natasha answers, dropping a kiss to Sharon’s shoulder before she settles on the counter. “Where’s the knife sharpener?”

Sharon tries not to roll her eyes. “Where you left it.”

It’s been almost a month since Natasha showed up at Sharon’s doorstep, bags in hand and a smile on her face, declaring she was moving in. Sharon didn’t argue. She just dragged Natasha to her — _their_ — bedroom, and worked her over until they were both sweaty and breathless.

Sharon has to admit she loves it. Natasha is a calming presence in her life, soothing and grounding her, at the same time she challenges Sharon to be a better person. It might me something weird to say about an ex-assassin, but Natasha’s been working hard on herself and to become her own person.

Sharon is proud of her, proud of them, for being where they are now. They both still have their scars, some more recent than others in Sharon’s case, but they know they can get through anything as long as they’re together. They’ve proved that already, and continue to do so every single day.

Natasha smiles and tilts her head up for a kiss when Sharon drops a stack of waffles in front of her. Sharon obliges, leaning down so she can press their lips together, slow and deep and—

Their phones ring. Daisy’s special Quake ringtone echoes through the kitchen, something she worked on just for their team to warn them whenever a new job came in, breaking the warm silence of the morning.

Sharon sighs. “I wish people only committed murder after breakfast time.”

“Murder never stops,” Natasha comments. “Can we bring the waffles with us?”

“Yeah,” Sharon agrees. “You grab a box and I’ll grab our weapons.”

Natasha does, trading the box for her knifes when Sharon hands them to her, before they both strap guns to their shoulder holsters that are then concealed after they put on their winter coats.

“Ready?” Natasha asks, extending a hand to Sharon.

Sharon takes it and tangles their fingers together.

When she’s with Natasha, she’s ready to take on the world.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! <3 You can find the art post [here](https://princess-of-the-worlds.tumblr.com/post/185274249159/sorry-baby-x-by-havvkguyz-and) and the Tumblr masterpost [here](https://hawkguyz.tumblr.com/post/185281472636/sorry-baby-x-a-capreversebb-collaboration-art)!
> 
> We’re also on:  
> princessoftheworlds - [Tumblr](https://princess-of-the-worlds.tumblr.com/), [Twitter](https://twitter.com/rajkumarinik)  
> wearing_tearing - [Twitter](https://twitter.com/wearing_tearing)


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